The Boy Who Lived in Knockturn Alley
by Winifred Hansen
Summary: A tale about a six-year-old boy who accidentally wanders into Knockturn Alley. Chance, fate and destiny; what a load of rubbish. Harry Potter just had a crappy day.
1. Chapter 1: Oliver Who? Harry Twist!

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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**CHAPTER 1: Oliver Who? Harry Twist!**

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"_In the little world in which children have their existence, whosoever brings them up, there is nothing so finely perceived and so finely felt, as injustice.__"_

* Charles Dickens *

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It was the summer just before Harry's seven-year-old birthday; a very dry and hot time of the year with little to no rain at all, to which this particular day proved no different.

Harry Potter, a quiet and scrawny little boy, was minding his own business and enjoying the rare piece of quiet he was so lucky to find himself surrounded by, and had happily opted to watch one of his favourite shows on TV. A feat that was normally not done so easily, but today there was no Uncle Vernon hovering, berating him, smacking him around or locking him in the cupboard under the stairs, which he had the great _honour _to call his room; it was a place he would often get locked in for no good reasons at all. There was also no Aunt Petunia yelling at him, or making him do most of the work around the two-storey house on Privet Drive, nor was there a Dudley loitering around just waiting to bully him and make him take the blame for whatever inevitable outcome about to happen in response to Dudley's wayward, and more often than not, dumb schemes.

No, on this fine day Harry Potter found himself home alone with the entire house at his disposal, as _they_ so conveniently appeared to have either forgotten, or just not bothered to lock him in the pathetic excuse for a room.

He felt a giddiness he couldn't quite explain, nor put his skinny little finger on, and for the first time in a very, _very_ long time, he found that he was able to _breathe_.

He idly grabbed for the remote control laying on the spotless glass table, and made sure not to accidently place his fingers on it so they would leave any smudges of grease. He had learned from an early age,_ well earlier_, he supposed, as he was still quite young, but he had learned the lesson nonetheless, that leaving marks on anything would only cause him to get even less food than he already got, or earn himself a spanking. He didn't mind the yelling all that much, sure it was tiring to listen to, but the spankings were what he hated the most; they were cruel and merciless, and if Vernon was in a particular bad mood, he would replace his hand with his belt.

He shook his head, as if to rid himself of the horrible memories running rampant in his innocent mind. He refused to think about it, _he refused_, especially on such a lovely day where he had the house all to himself for the first time in over a year.

He leaned back in the plush sofa, and zapped mindlessly through the countless of random channels his Uncle insisted on having, hell-bent on forgetting his last, and so far worst, beating.

He was a skinny boy; malnourished some would probably say if they knew what his body looked like under all of Dudley's hand-me-down clothes, and his body took the spankings harder than what was considered normal. After the last beating – it couldn't even constitute as a spanking – his body had ached all over. A fortnight of pain because Vernon hadn't gotten the promotion he wanted, not that Harry had expected him to anyway, but it was because of _that_ and the fact that Harry had done something _weird_.

Something unnatural_._

To this day Harry still didn't know how he managed to get onto the roof. What he did know though, was that he had been running from Dudley and one of his stupid friends, Piers Polkiss he believed his name was, as they had chased him through Petunia's immaculately kept garden. Then all hell had broken loose in a matter of minutes. Petunia had shrieked like a mad banshee for Vernon to come bring him down from the roof immediately, after she had come home from her weekly appointment at the salon. Harry had watched her come walking down the sidewalk, and promptly stopped up to watch in horror, looking at the unnatural scene unfolding before her.

He had only been sitting on the roof, by himself, but that wasn't something the Dursley's would deem to be _normal_, hence her reaction.

He turned off the TV, no longer in the mood to watch the early afternoon programmes, and when his stomach gave a particular loud growl, he felt his stomach give way for the almost constant hunger he felt, as he only ever seemed to receive enough food to keep him healthy, or healthy-_ish_. He traipsed towards the kitchen, officially abandoning his comfortable seat on the sofa and leaving his depressing thoughts behind for good.

Harry might only be six years of age, not yet a full decade old, but he was well acquainted with the kitchen area and the various applications pertaining to it. It wasn't that Petunia let him cook, at least not by himself, but he knew it was only because she didn't trust him enough to make him do it by himself. Still, he had more knowledge of the kitchen and the art of cooking than most grown-ups had, _and that_, he thought with a wry smile, was something they could never take away from him.

He mulled over his options, sparse as they were, and decided that he would enjoy the day to the fullest and make himself a nice sandwich. Preferably with ham _and_ cheese, maybe even a glass of lemonade.

He was definitely in an indulging kind of mood today.

As he sat quietly by the kitchen counter, his bum neatly placed on one of the tall bar stools Petunia had convinced Vernon to buy last summer, his legs dangled in the air, as he couldn't quite reach the floor yet. He chewed carefully on his ham and cheese sandwich, savouring each bite to the fullest, and then his line of sight collided with a view he seldom saw.

Money.

And quite a bit at that.

Normally, all things related to money was kept as far away from him as possible, and they only did so because they didn't trust him further than they could throw him, and what use would he, a six-year-old boy, have of them anyway?

So it was safe to say that it took him by surprise, when he discovered two twenty-pound notes and three ten-pound notes carelessly thrown on the disturbingly clean kitchen counter.

He had never seen that much money in his entire life, and it threw him off for a second.

Munching on the last pieces of his delicious sandwich, and polishing off the glass of lemonade he so greedily had taken - he was only ever allowed to drink water and a smidgen of milk if he was lucky – he then cleaned up after himself, making sure everything was spotless, and afterwards found himself, unsurprisingly, standing in front of the brown kitchen counter, staring at the money with a wondrous gaze.

Then it occurred to him.

It hit him like a ton of bricks, and he felt almost stupid for not realising sooner. He could leave. He could actually leave the house and go somewhere, like London. Maybe if he was really lucky, someone would take pity on him and adopt him. If not, well, then he could always live on the streets with the homeless and do all kinds of odd jobs. Surely there was something he could do.

It was a perfect plan, an absolute stroke of genius in his opinion. But what did he know? He was, after all, only six-years-old.

_Soon to be seven_, his mind argued.

Having a newfound resolve about as firm as Dudley's grubby little fist, and it really was surprisingly firm for someone his age, he ran to the cupboard under the stairs and yanked the paper-thin door open. He grabbed his shabby little backpack by the straps, yet another discarded item of Dudley's, and nearly tore off the zipper when he tried to open it.

He frantically filled it with whatever clothes he owned and had stored in the cupboard, an old and very worn edition of Oliver Twist Dudley didn't want, and had angrily tossed at him in hope of it actually hitting him, but Harry had caught it with ease, of course, and lastly a Rubik's Cube that was missing colour in odd places.

Finally, he put on a red cap; that way he hopefully wouldn't get recognised, at least not straightaway, because he had come to realise that his unruly mop of black hair was easily spotted.

His gaze scanned the room one last time, searching for any items he might have missed, but found none. He didn't own an awful lot, which was probably for the best if he had to carry it around by himself from now on. He shook his head and took one last glance at the sad little room, as if to say his final goodbye, then tenderly closed the door, backpack in hand and ready for his great adventure.

Deciding to stock some food while he was at it, he headed towards the kitchen and grabbed a bottle of water, a few biscuits from the jar by the window, and the money, which he carefully stored in the pocket of his trousers. He was done here, done with this house of horrors and bad people.

He was ready to take on the world, by himself, and somehow he got the feeling it should bother him. But it didn't. He had always relied on himself, so why should it be any different now? He would turn seven soon enough, then eight, and before he knew it he would be an adult. He just had to find a place to stay until then, and avoid getting sent back to Privet Drive of course.

He left the house in an unusual mood; confused was probably the feeling that came closest, but happy nonetheless. He had made sure the door was safely locked before he left, and that he hadn't left a mess behind.

That way it would be like he had never been there in the first place.

He walked down Privet Drive and took a turn to the left down Wisteria Walk, where he knew the bus stop was, and he was in luck, as he saw the bus not far from the bus stop. He ran the last twenty metres, the knapsack on his tiny back swaying from side to side, and he exhaled in relief when the bus stopped.

The bus driver did look a bit sceptically at Harry, but he took the money anyway and gave Harry his ticket. Harry smiled at the elderly man and eagerly took the ticket. He found a seat all the way down in the back, happy to have some time alone before they reached King's Cross in London. Rummaging through his backpack, he located the small plastic bag with biscuits. Breaking a chocolate biscuit in half, he silently munched on it, sure not to alert the bus driver of his actions, and he thoroughly enjoyed his newfound freedom.

Harry Potter was feeling happy for the first time in years, and now he was officially free as a bird too.

_Who knew what adventures lay ahead of him?_ He mentally asked himself, munching on the other half of the biscuit.

_Well, there was only one way to find out._

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"_A boy's story is the best that is ever told."_

* Charles Dickens *

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The drive took something close to an hour and a half, mainly because of all the stops the bus made on its way, and he was happy to note that no one seemed to approach him, or even notice he was there. It suited him just fine, though, as he honestly preferred his solitude for the time being. He did, however, wonder what he was going to do once he reached London, something he hadn't quite planned yet. _But so far so good_, he thought, he hadn't encountered any trouble yet, so he figured he would just go along with it and rely on his gut.

After wandering around on the station for half an hour, greedily taking everything in, Harry ventured down to the Underground. He didn't know where he was going, but he had fun, looking at people sitting near him, or standing up, as the seats were sparse.

He enjoyed every second of it.

Climbing a broken escalator, Harry wondered where to go next, as a street lined up with bookshops, music stores, cinemas and hamburger restaurants came into sight. Childish wonder flooded him, and he had to shake himself out of his stupor, or rather, he only managed to do so when someone rudely bumped into him, barely even looking down at him when he heard the muttered excuse.

He moved on, strolling leisurely down the street until he came to a tiny grubby-looking pub, he stopped, not really sure why, as he couldn't imagine what could possibly be so special about a dingy pub, but some unknown force compelled him to stop.

_The Leaky Cauldron._

Well, he could always take a quick look and leave again.

It was odd though; no one else seemed to notice the place, which only served to increase Harry's level of interest in the pub. People simply hurried by and didn't so much as glance at it, their eyes deliberately going to the stores beside the pub, but never at the pub itself, and Harry got the distinct feeling that he was the only one who could actually see it.

He entered, feeling more than a little apprehensive, but pushed the heavy door open anyway; he was never one to back down.

The place was dark and shabby, and much like what Harry had expected, but what was unexpected was the heavy attendance, it was overwhelming. There were lots of families bustling around, some boorishly normal, others looked like they belonged in a fairy tale, or possibly medieval times. It was an odd combination, but Harry wasn't one to judge. He shook it off and entered the pub fully.

Again nobody really seemed to notice him, except for a few speculative glances coming from a shady looking man, brooding in a dark corner. He looked extremely pale, and the man's dark eyes followed him around, like Harry was supposed to be easy prey and he, _the man_, a dangerous predator just waiting for an opening.

He shrugged it off and followed a nice-looking family out back and into a small, walled courtyard. Harry frowned, as he took in the sight of nothing but trashcans and a few weeds, but the family seemed intent on staying.

Harry was about to turn around and go back to the pub, when an opening appeared in the brick wall. The hole expanded until it was big enough for everyone to go through, and Harry nearly yelped out loud, but stopped himself at the last minute, not wanting to attract unnecessary attention to himself.

He eagerly followed the unknown family through the huge archway, who were all chatting excitedly, and he watched the black haired girl shriek with girlish glee, when she saw what awaited her.

Just when he looked back over his shoulder, it was just in time to see the archway shrink back to its former appearance of solid wall. Amazing. It was simply magical.

But magic didn't exist. Did it? His Aunt and Uncle had always vehemently denied the existence of anything remotely magical, but then again, they had been known to lie from time to time.

And then everything suddenly made sense to Harry, as he watched in fascination at the extraordinary street laid out before him. He hadn't even realised his feet were moving, but the change of scenery was certainly something he noticed. He passed Eeylops Owl Emporium, Quality Quidditch Supplies, Madam Malkin's Robes For All Occasions, Flourish and Blotts, Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor and lots and lots of insignificant little shops, until he came to a stop in front of a place called Knockturn Alley, if the tatty sign was anything to go by.

It looked dark and dangerous. _Ominous_. It was not a place for children or nice people, he supposed.

He stood rooted to the ground, ignorant of all the people walking by and they just as ignorant of him. He mulled it over. Magic was real, as in the witches and wizards with wands and flying brooms kind of real.

Was he magical too? Was that why the Dursley's had hated him so, and had sworn off anything slightly out of the ordinary? He didn't even know who to ask. Who was trustworthy and who wasn't?

He took a step forward.

He had always liked fairy tales and the sort, but wasn't allowed anywhere near it.

He took another step.

Was this another one of his highly absurd dreams? It couldn't be, it just couldn't. But this was almost to good to be true.

Then came another step, and another and another and another, until his legs were moving completely on their own accord.

Harry looked up just in time to stop himself from colliding with an unfamiliar old woman. She looked mad, the crazy kind of mad, like she had been mad for years, and Harry carefully took a step back. So far very few had noticed him strolling around on his own, but she did. Oh, she most certainly did.

Her eyes darted around crazily, _all around the place_, he thought, and when the screech of an unhappy cat diverted her attention, Harry took the chance to move around her and march further down the narrow street. He didn't look back; he didn't dare.

He vowed to be attentive from then on, but before Harry knew what happened, he tripped over a loose cobblestone and was sent flying against the ground. His knees scraped along the stony surface and his cap fell off, landing a few feet ahead.

It hurt, badly, but he didn't utter a sound. He never really did. Crying wouldn't get him anywhere, nor would whining like a pathetic child accomplish anything.

Harry looked up to see the deathly pale man, who had observed him back at the pub no more than fifteen minutes ago, hovering above him. It should have startled him, it really should, but Harry wasn't easily surprised.

What did confuse him though, was how in the world the man had managed to get here before Harry? It unnerved him, but reasoned that the man had to have moved past him, when Harry had walked around looking at the all the amazing magical shops. That seemed logical enough, didn't it?

Harry could see the unknown man's gaze travel to his injured, knobbly knees. His knees bled a bit, not much, but enough for Harry to wince at the sight.

The man, on the other hand, looked pained for a brief moment and his posture straightened remarkably, but the aggravated expression was gone before Harry had the chance to determine why it was there in the first place.

"Put the cap back on." The man hissed at him, and Harry looked up, frowning, and with a plethora of questions apparent in his eyes. He did, however, do what the man ordered him to, picking up his red cap; hurriedly he dusted it off and put it back on. Harry noticed he had fallen right in front of a shop called The Coffin Shop, a big weatherworn sign hanging above the entrance to indicate his whereabouts.

"That doesn't look so good." Said the man, nodding his head in the direction of Harry's knees.

Harry looked down and said, "I have had worse."

"Still, you ought to get that cleaned up." The man said contemplatively, and Harry supposed he was right about that.

"You can come with me, just down that alley over there" he jabbed a finger in the direction of a narrow-looking alley. "There's a nice lady who can take a look at it. It will only take a second." The man pushed.

"I really shouldn't…" Harry trailed off, uncertain.

"Nonsense!" Exclaimed the man and impatiently raised Harry to his feet.

Despite his initial uncertainty, Harry found himself trailing after the pale man. He was dressed rather nicely, Harry thought absently, wearing a pinstriped suit that looked more expensive than anything Harry had ever owned – combined. He had very dark hair, almost as dark as Harry's, and he had dark shadows under his eyes. Back at the pub, when Harry had first spotted him, he had thought the shadows under the man's eyes to be a by-product of the dim lightening, but now it seemed that wasn't the case.

The man led Harry down the narrow alleyway, he could see a half-open door at the end of it, and Harry was beginning to wonder if following the mysterious man had been such a good idea after all. The sneaking suspicion he harboured for the stranger, that he was possibly otherworldly, only seemed to manifest and sink its piercing claws into Harry's conscience, when Harry spotted two sharp, bright white canines peaking out from the man's extremely pale and colour-drained lips.

Surely he wasn't a…a vampire? Was he? No, that was just silly. Vampires were purely fictional, of course, or so Aunt Petunia had stubbornly stated, when Dudley had been scared out of his wits after watching an old rerun of Nosferatu very, very late one night in November, despite his parent's half-hearted protests.

Dudley _always_ got what he wanted.

"Excuse me? Sir? I think I better go home instead, my family will be worried if I stay out for too long." It was a blatant lie; he knew they wouldn't care whether he was dead or alive, but the alarm bells in Harry's mind were ringing, loudly, and he regretted going with the shady man in the first place. When the man didn't stop, Harry bravely reached out to make a grab for the man's expensive coat, his hands fisting in the soft material and he could see it stretching somewhat when the man took another step forward.

"Sir?" Harry repeated, and the man finally turned around.

"Oh my dear boy, you aren't going anywhere I'm afraid." The man bared his teeth in a sinister smile, sharp canines standing out like a sore thumb, and it became startling clear to Harry that the man was, indeed, a vampire.

Harry let go of the man's pinstriped jacket faster than he thought himself able to, and his eyes went wide with uncontrollable fear.

He bolted, or tried to, it appeared that the way from which they came was blocked, a stonewall had magically appeared to cut off any kind of escape – or, perhaps, appeared to prevent any outsiders from entering the narrow alleyway and intervening in whichever devious schemes were in store for Harry.

Harry spied a few metal tins, empty boxes and several broken bottles littered around and against the wall, near what had once been the entrance to the dark alley, and he made a grab for one of the broken bottles, intent on getting a weapon to defend himself, but the man's low voice rang through the alley and made him halt his actions instantly.

"Oh, I wouldn't try that if I were you, _Harry Potter_." His low and growly voice sent chills down Harry's spine, and he was sure it went all the way down to his toes.

"How…how do you know my name?" Harry asked, terrified. He was slightly panting from his attempted escape, and his breath came out in short little huffs. He eyed the man – no, the vampire – frightened by the possible outcomes, and more than a little freaked out.

"Wouldn't you like to know, little one?" He smiled, again baring those horribly sharp teeth, and Harry could feel himself being on the verge of having a panic attack. He had gathered screaming wouldn't do him any good, not around here it seemed, and even _if_ someone heard him, he doubted anyone would come to his aid.

"With all due respect, I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to know, sir." His voice came out surprisingly steady, and Harry could have slapped himself, but he was tired of being treated like a child, even if he was one. Still, that didn't explain why he said that, to a vampire, who had him cornered in a closed-off alley. What was he thinking? Did he honestly wish to have his small and insignificant body sucked dry, completely devoid of blood?

The vampire's eyebrow quirked in a stiff manner and he let out a small chuckle, which frightened Harry all the more, the low rumbling startling him out of his rather bloody imagination.

"Brave, Mr Potter, very brave. But I'm afraid I don't have time for formalities." His face hardened and his eyes turned cold, no longer did the sly smile grace his features and much to Harry's horror, he watched the vampire's fangs grow half an inch, as if preparing to bite.

"Goodbye Mr Potter, it truly was an honour meeting you."

_TBC…_

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AN: I am quite curious to see whether this is any good, as it is my first Harry-centric fic (I usually do Hermione-centric). I will update whenever I have some time to spare, which will hopefully be soon.

A fair warning though, I currently have two jobs so I have no way of planning when to publish new chapters, but I will try to do it whenever possible. As for this lovely little piece of fiction… I suppose I have most of it planned out already, so no worries there.

NEXT CHAPTER: Vamps, Seers and Smelly Toads.

Hope to hear from you!

Love

Winnie


	2. Chapter 2: Vamps, Seers and Smelly Toads

Disclaimer: La la la la la la la… As if I own anything.

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**CHAPTER 2: Vamps, Seers and Smelly Toads**

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"_He would make a lovely corpse."_

* Charles Dickens *

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He was going to die.

Harry Potter, a scrawny little boy who had yet to turn seven years of age, also newly turned runaway about to enjoy the life he never experienced, was about to die at the hands of an unknown vampire.

_Or rather_, he thought wryly, _he was going to die at the _fangs _of an unknown vampire_.

No more than ten minutes ago he had thought his future was finally looking up, having discovered that magic was as real as the Dursley's hatred for him. Then, in the span of ten minutes, everything had gone south because of his inability to pay attention to his surroundings.

How was that fair?

_It wasn't_, he decided, _but then again, when had anything ever been fair?_

Harry looked up at the advancing vampire, sharp and deadly fangs bared for the world to see, and in this case, there in order to scare the bejesus out of Harry.

The vampire looked menacing, eyes cold and dead, and they had turned an even darker shade of black during the last two minutes. They looked like big pools of black oil, swirling around mesmerizingly, but as dangerous as Marjorie Dursley's ferocious bulldog, Ripper.

"Sanguini! What do you think you are doing? Scaring the poor boy like that!" A shrilly voice interrupted.

_So the vampire's name was Sanguini?_

At least he would know the name of his killer then, how comforting. _And morbid_, his mind added.

Sanguini's head snapped towards the intruder, and a sly smile found its way to his lips.

"But it's so much fun scaring the shite out of ignorant little brats…" He trailed off, and his gaze travelled to the crouching boy, pushed up against the newly conjured wall of bricks as far as he could possibly go, in a feeble attempt to get away.

"Language!" She screeched warningly. "Sanguini, what have I told you about cursing?" Harry could see a bony-looking old lady appear from behind Sanguini's towering form, forcefully jabbing a skeletal finger on the vampire's shoulder in rapid movements. The amount of grey hair on her head was scarce, yet she had decided to keep the length of her silvery locks long, despite the obvious lack of volume. She was dressed in midnight blue robes with silver linings that looked like it had clearly seen better days, and by the amount of jewellery she had opted to wear, Harry thought she might have raided someone's jewellery box, if not her own. She hadn't a spindly finger free of silver rings with multi-coloured stones, nor did her bony little wrists look like they could handle another bracelet.

"Not to curse while you're around." He stated smugly, his eyes turning back to the dull black colour they had previously been, and his fangs shrunk back to their former size.

"I don't know why I even bother with you." She sighed, annoyed, and then turned her attention to Harry, who was still crouching on the grimy cobblestone ground.

"Now, who do we have here?" She said, swiftly kneeling down to his eyelevel and forcefully grabbed his chin to get a better look at him.

Harry thought that for such a frail looking old crone, she sure had a lot of strength left in her.

"Sweet Circe! You're Harry Potter!" Again Harry had no idea how she knew his name, but this time he refrained from asking; instead he stared back at her, his bright green eyes brimming with unanswered questions.

"What are you doing here boy? In Knockturn Alley of all places? Have you any idea what could have happened, had the wrong sort of people found you dallying around?" He shook his head, still uncertain about the situation. How would he know who the wrong sort of people was? The old woman turned to give Sanguini a questioning glance, to which Harry didn't dare utter a sound out of fear for the vampire.

"I spotted him at The Leaky Cauldron, _alone_, and somehow he ended up wandering around Diagon Alley. I flooed The Coffin House to cut him off before someone else discovered him…" He gave her an odd look Harry couldn't decipher. "Lucius Malfoy was running errands today."

To Harry that didn't explain much, but the old crone looked startled and it seemed that it did, in fact, make sense to her.

"So, you are not going to kill me or turn me into a vampire then?" Harry directed the question at Sanguini, still uncertain about, well, just about everything.

"Heaven's no, dear child! This imbecile here was only pulling your leg." The woman looked beyond scandalised, which reassured Harry immensely, and he sighed in relief and sagged against the conjured wall.

"It's such a shame though, he would make a fine corpse." Sanguini bared his teeth slightly, and Harry's eyes widened in surprise at the statement, almost expecting the vampire to attack him, again.

"That's enough out of you Sanguini!" She hissed viciously at the grinning vampire.

"Well, that's nice to know, I suppose." Harry shrugged, once he got over his initial shock, and again Sanguini burst out laughing at Harry's choice of words.

"You're an odd one Potter." Sanguini said, once his laughter had subsided.

"Never mind, let's get you inside and have a look at those knees." The old woman pulled Harry up from the grimy cobblestone ground, harshly grabbing his skinny little arms, and again Harry couldn't help but think she really must eat a lot of spinach, otherwise she was entirely too strong to be as old as she looked.

Or perhaps it had something to do with magic? He wasn't sure, but hadn't the nerve to ask her. He was certain there was a lot he didn't, and probably wouldn't ever, know about magic.

Instead he asked her something else to quench his thirst for answers.

"Excuse me, but who exactly are you?" He looked at the old woman still holding him by his arm, and apparently intent on dragging him towards the door at the end of the dirty little alley. Harry had always thought it polite to at least introduce oneself before dragging people off to God knows where - or what.

"Oh my, you're right boy, I haven't even introduced myself yet." She looked puzzled at Harry, her free hand going despairingly dramatic to her cheek, and he could see Sanguini roll his eyes at the old woman's antics.

"I am Madam Delphia Brahan, owner of The Starry Prophesier. At your service." She curtsied awkwardly, and Harry thought it another oddity to file away for the day.

"Nice to meet you." He said, not knowing what else to say to the peculiar lady, and since she had decided to remember her manners, he would act the part too.

"Now, enough with the chit chat." Delphia said sternly, taking Harry by the arm, yet again, dragging him with her as she stalked towards the shabby door, her countless bracelets dangling and jiggling with every step she took.

_So much for manners._

Harry wondered if staying with the Dursleys would have been the better option, but the thought was fleeting and gone before he could even berate himself for thinking it in the first place.

A dubious vampire and an old crone with strength like Popeye were definitely better than the Dursleys, even if he was a tad uncertain whether said vampire wanted to befriend him, or make dinner out him. Either way, this alternative, _any alternative really_, to being in the vicinity of the Dursleys would always be the better option to him.

_Always_.

* * *

"Now, what are you doing here in the first place, boy?" Delphia examined him intensely, much like a scientist would a new and interesting project, from her seat in the grandmotherly sofa filled with lace. Even the smell in the odd little flat above, what he assumed was, The Starry Prophesier, was stuffy and dusty, much like it had been whenever he was saddled with the likes of Arabella Figg – only this time there were no cats.

"I ran away from home and I'm not going back." He stated calmly, as he figured there was no reason to beat around the bush. They would probably find out eventually anyway.

"This just gets better and better!" Sanguini laughed, but stopped when the old woman's hand connected with the back of his head, to which he then turned to scowl at her instead, and moved a few inches away from her, for good measure. Clearly he didn't want to risk getting hit again like a petulant child.

"What do you mean you ran away?" She ordered strictly, her attention on Harry was sharp like that of an eagle.

"I meant what I said. I took the bus to London, then the Underground, and somehow I ended up at that odd pub." He took a sip from his tea. "I just can't believe magic is real…" His gaze turned hazy, and he got lost in the delightful memories from his rather short expedition to that wonderful place they called Diagon Alley. He had never felt so at home.

"Of course magic is real! How do you think your parents learned it all?" Delphia looked outraged at the comment, and her chipped teacup quivered in the white saucer beneath it, as she forcefully connected the rose-patterned porcelain with the saucer in a swift, angry gesture.

"You knew my parents?" The moment his parents were mentioned his eyes snapped up to look at the eccentric woman, and everything else was forgotten for the time being. The Dursleys had never willingly offered any information about his parents, and if they did, which was seldom, the only words coming out of their mouths were insulting slurs and downright degrading comments. He hadn't the stomach for their vile slanders; he was young, not stupid, and he knew something was off with their vicious words.

"I don't think there's a witch or wizard in England and Scotland who doesn't know about Lily and James Potter! The same goes for you boy. You're famous around here!" She practically roared at him.

"Didn't your family tell you about it?" Sanguini asked curiously, he had observed the brat since his arrival at the Leaky Cauldron, and he was not at all what he had expected from The Boy Who Lived. Arrogance and a hunger for fame seemed so far away from the scrawny little boy seated on the opposite sofa. No, Harry Potter wasn't anything like the person he had imagined him to be.

"No they didn't. They didn't tell me anything at all; they hated me too much to talk to me. They still hate me, which is why I left. I figured they would be better off without me." Harry averted his gaze uncomfortably, his eyes looking at the creaky floorboards that looked like they too had seen better days. The whole building looked worse for the wear in fact, and far older than Harry, which admittedly wasn't saying much, but Harry thought the place looked to be a part of a different era altogether.

"Don't you think you are overreacting? Surely they don't hate you. You know, families fight all the time, boy." Delphia frowned, not believing the words coming out of his mouth. Surely no one could hate him. _Him_, Harry Potter! The Boy Who Lived!

"They do. I've never doubted they didn't." Harry said in a small voice, unbidden memories choosing to resurface, as he remembered just how much his so-called family hated him.

"Did they do something to you?" Sanguini asked, as he took in Harry's appearance, clothes that were much too large for him, malnourished, and extremely pale. The boy practically screamed for help.

"Uncle Vernon spanked me often enough, whenever he felt like it, and sometimes when he got really mad, he would use his belt instead of his hands." Harry mumbled uncomfortably. It was the first time he told that to anyone - and it felt weird, like he was doing something he wasn't supposed to do, yet there was relief mingled with the guilt.

"Why?" Delphia's sharp blue eyes hardened, again not believing what she was hearing. What the boy was talking about was downright child abuse, now, an earned spanking had never hurt anyone, but the way the boy went about his explanation…he made it sound like he was hit on a regular basis, hit too much for it not to be anything else but abuse.

"Whenever weird things happened they would blame me, or just because they believed I earned myself a spanking for chores I didn't do right. Take your pick. Either that or I wouldn't get any food for a few days."

"They starved you? Are you sure you aren't exaggerating? Children are known to complain whenever they misbehave and receive proper punishment for their actions-" Harry could feel his anger starting to bubble up, angry that Delphia didn't want to believe his very honest words, but before she could continue her faulty assessment, Sanguini chose to cut in, for which he was grateful.

"I believe it." Sanguini interrupted forcefully, feeling tired of watching Delphia doubt the boy's words. "Take a look at him Delphia, does it look like the boy is lying to you? Because I would say he looks skinnier than you, which can't be healthy." Harry could have kissed the vampire, but thought better of it; he didn't want to risk being bit.

"I have old bruises on my arms and back if you doubt my words." Harry interjected sardonically, lifting his jumper halfway over his head and turned around so both of them could see his bruised back. He could hear Delphia gasp loudly behind him, and he didn't hear a word from Sanguini.

"Magical mother of Morgana!" Delphia shrieked, outraged.

"They beat you?! They beat a defenceless child?" She continued her shrieking, furious at the people who were supposed to take care of him.

"Yes." He stated, pulling his jumper down again, relieved she finally seemed to believe him, even if he had to show her old and fading bruises first. "I refuse to go back." He turned around on the sofa to look at them again. "Please…you can't send me back. I beg of you! I finally got away; I finally got to be free. I can't go back, not after this…" Harry's voice cracked, but he didn't cry. He couldn't. He had shed one too many tears at the Dursleys, and so far tears hadn't gotten him anywhere.

"Whatever will you do Delphia?" Sanguini asked, amused. He was well aware of Delphia's views on child abuse, and she would rather burn down the Dursley's house than send him back.

"Shut it, you bloody leech, I've had enough of your thoughtless comments for one day." She hissed at Sanguini, and for a second it looked like she contemplated hitting him again, but then instead turned to look at Harry. "You aren't going anywhere boy. Until I figure out what to do with you, you are staying right here. In fact, you can share a room with Sanguini." She looked smug at her deduction, pleased to annoy Sanguini and keep Harry from his abusive remaining family.

"What! You can't be serious!" Sanguini exclaimed, horrified at the thought of sharing his room with anyone, least of all Harry Potter, a six-year-old runaway with no knowledge of the wizarding world or magic in general. Harry, on the other hand, didn't know whether to be relieved that he had a place to stay, or to freak out at the idea of sharing a room with a real vampire.

"Well, where else do you propose we put him? I need approval from the Ministry before adding another storey to the building. You know that..." She eyed him knowingly. "Which means you will have to share your room with young Mr Potter here until then."

Sharing a room with a vampire?

_Well_, Harry thought interestingly, _why the heck not?_

* * *

The room was_ nice_.

It was as worn and dirty as the rest of the ancient flat, but nice nonetheless. There was only a small bed lined up against the wall, a tiny nightstand that looked ready to topple over, and an antique desk standing by the window, complete with an array of books splayed over the surface. The wall opposite of the bed, however, was completely empty, much to Harry's confusion.

On the other hand Harry had never slept in a room this big before, not that he remembered at least, and he thought the room looked to be just as big as Dudley's first bedroom.

"There's only one bed." Harry stated with a frown, once he realised the problematic sleeping arrangements.

"I sleep in the coffin beneath the bed, the bed is yours." The unhappy vampire growled.

"You sleep in a coffin?" Harry exclaimed, whirling around to look at the vampire standing awkwardly behind him.

"Got a problem with that Potter?" Sanguini asked, raising an eyebrow challenging in the process.

"No, of course not, it's just a bit odd."

"I could say the same to you; sleeping in a bed." Sanguini scoffed at the word 'bed'.

"I guess, if you look at it like that." Harry frowned and turned around again, assessing the room once again, and seemingly lost in thought until he noticed a big blob of brown sitting on the bed.

"What is _that_?" Harry grimaced, as he put down his backpack on the floor.

"This is Trevor, be nice to him." Sanguini noticed Harry's sceptic glance at the revolting toad, a reaction similar to his own. "Just remember, Potter, Trevor was living here _long_ before either of us, and if Delphia catches you doing anything funny to her beloved toad, well, you have seen her temper first hand…" Sanguini trailed off suggestively, and Harry got the feeling Sanguini had in fact tried to do something to the poor toad – _and_ got caught red handed by the mad woman Delphia Brahan.

"A toad?" Harry asked incredulously, wondering why a toad of all animals would be present – and sitting on the bed like it owned it.

"He's Delphia's familiar. And she dislikes any funny business when it comes to the bloody toad." He explained. "That woman can't take a simple joke." He muttered under his breath, but Harry heard him perfectly.

_So this was where he was going to stay for the time being? __Vampires, toads and mad old women didn't seem all that bad._

_Not bad at all._

* * *

"Out with it Potter."

"Well, you're a vampire-" Harry began timidly, not sure if it was rude to ask about what he wanted to know.

"Well spotted youngling." Sanguini interjected sarcastically, which Harry opted to ignore. He had caught on fast, and was no longer scared of Sanguini, at least not as long as he kept his fangs far away from Harry.

"Aren't vampires supposed to be allergic to the sun?"

"That's one way of putting it, I suppose, and we are, well, sort of anyhow."

"I don't understand." Harry frowned deeply, looking as if a difficult puzzle had refused to be solved.

"Surprise…" Sanguini muttered under his breath, shot the boy a nasty glare from his open coffin on the creaky floorboards and only then remembered just how uneducated Harry Potter was in the ways of the wizarding world. "We won't turn into dust if that's what you're thinking. We can walk in the sunlight, but it causes us a terrible headache, hence why I stick to the shade or nighttime. Most vampires tend to sleep during the day because of the dreadful pain it causes otherwise, but a few disregards it completely."

"What about you?" Harry asked suddenly, after taking in Sanguini's explanation with an enthusiastic approach, similar to the maddest bookworm devouring every book with an unequalled passion.

"What about me?" Sanguini frowned.

"Do you usually stay awake during the day? Or do you prefer the night?" Harry asked, exited.

"Normally no, I have business to attend to during the night. Work to do, people to meet." Sanguini rolled his eyes at the all too enthusiastic boy.

"Then why were you awake today?" Harry asked, puzzled. It had bothered him ever since he realised Sanguini was a vampire. For all purposes and intents, vampires were supposed to sleep during the day, or at least that was how the movies and books commonly depicted them.

And as everything else today, it had proved to be bollocks.

"Delphia had an inkling something grand was going to happen today, and she was right." He glanced at Harry out of the corner of his eyes, just in time to see the disbelieving look on Harry's face.

"An inkling? So you stayed awake because of that?" Harry sat up in his new bed to get a better look at the vampire lying in his coffin, an incredulous look apparent on his gaunt face.

"I might as well tell you know then." The vampire sighed tiredly. "Delphia comes from a long line of seers, but as most 'seers' these days, her abilities are insignificant in comparison to that of her ancestors'. She has the gift, yes, but prophecies and simple foretelling are scant on her part. They do, however, surprise her once in a while, like today."

"Oh."

"Now that that is explained, you can pester Delphia all you want tomorrow, because I need my beauty sleep now." Sanguini muttered and turned around abruptly, and as he turned, he brought the coffin's lid down, officially ending his conversation with Harry.

"That was…rude." Harry frowned; muttering the words to himself, as his roommate so rudely chose to call it a night.

Well, he supposed he had been asking lots of questions, and hadn't stopped to think about whether it would bother the unfriendly vampire or not. In hindsight he probably should have seen Sanguini's hostile response come from a mile away.

He shrugged to himself and eased himself back under the covers, relishing in the feel of getting to sleep in a nice and soft bed - far away from the Dursley's.

And for the first time in his rather short life, Harry Potter actually looked forward to the next day to come.

_TBC…_

* * *

Ever wondered why Trevor always tries to escape Neville? I think Trevor just misses Delphia. LOL. Entirely made up by my wayward mind (obviously).

And thanks to autumngold for the lovely review :)

Anyway… I'm considering turning this into a Harry/Draco, Harry/Luna, Luna/Harry/ Draco or perhaps a Harry/Tonks? It will be a while before anything even remotely related to a Harry-pairing happens, but I'm a bit out of my element with Harry, so I would like some response as to what people like best in terms of Harry pairings? (It won't be Hermione, she is already paired off I'm afraid) It won't interfere too much with the plot itself, so I figured asking people was okay.

Hope to hear from you :)

Love

Winnie


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